


Cafe Sign Across the Street

by monanotlisa



Category: Fringe
Genre: Alternate Canon, Episode Related, F/M, Partners to Lovers, Porn Battle, Post 4:07 - Wallflower, RST, Resolved Sexual Tension, What-If, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, porn!fail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/pseuds/monanotlisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the Amber!Olivia/Lincoln vids feature the diner scene from 4x07 "Wallflower". There's totally a reason for that: this awkward, breathless hum of anticipation between them.</p><p>Let's imagine, for a moment, a slightly shifted timeline (no, not like that; not that far ;).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cafe Sign Across the Street

**Author's Note:**

> Title lifted from Just Blue by The Weepies.
> 
> _Pale gray sky above my head  
>  Dark gray road, my rolling bed  
> Close my eyes, see you instead  
> Neon cafe sign across the street is glowing red  
> But I'm blue, I'm blue and there's not a thing to do  
> I'm blue, just blue, just blue_
> 
>  
> 
>  

When he hears the diner door open and sees a flash of dark coat and blond hair out of the corner of his eye, Lincoln wonders for the fraction of a second whether it makes sense to pretend: that he hasn't been waiting for Olivia since the moment he gingerly sat down in their booth, three hours and five minutes ago.

_...three?_

He turns toward her. It's easy; anything else would be hard. To hell with pretense. They're both not very good at it, anyway. "You're early," he says, and he can't stop the corners of his mouth from sliding softly upward.

Olivia smiles back, and it's just a bit rueful. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks a little red. "I thought you'd be here since before midnight. Probably. So coming at 2am seemed like a good idea." 

The motion of her body approaching him brings a waft of scent, citrus and sandalwood. Olivia doesn't generally wear perfume. Did she take a shower before she came here? Lincoln's heart slams hard against his ribcage, but he manages to motion toward the booth. 

"A very good one," he says, still smiling. When she slides onto the bench across from him, he can see that her make-up is light tonight, the glow of her skin all her own.

"So," Olivia says, and Lincoln watches, fascinated, how her tongue peeks out, moistens her lips, "What else is good?"

 _That she's here for him. That she's here for him and early. That she must feel something at least a bit like the exhilaration that's his constant companion every time she is._ He blinks, and Olivia raises an eyebrow. There's a spark of amusement in her eyes, more green than usual against the mild flush on her face. "Food, Lincoln. Here in the diner?"

Now that Lincoln knows. He manages to make a recommendation (the Greek omelette; the lemon pie, because clearly she likes tangy fruit, minus the meringue -- too much sweetness on top; the Mayflower IPA), and Olivia manages to eat about half of the savory dish. Both of them manage to talk, helped greatly by the ale, no doubt. It helps both of them get over the fact that this is a (maybe) date.

At four in the morning, mid-sentence while she's explaining the case of the burglars who walked through walls, Olivia burps, and immediately claps her hand over her mouth. Lincoln has to laugh. He's pretty sure it's with her, though. When Olivia takes her hand away, she's laughing too. It's a beautiful sight. The best he can imagine right now.

"I don't usually drink beer," she offers, and gently taps the top of her bottle to her lower lip. "Whiskey works."

Lincoln isn't surprised it does, for her. He thinks of her long strides, the way her shoulders square and her voice carries easily across the bullpen. Control, inward and outward, comes at a price. "My hotel room has a minibar, but it doesn't have the good stuff."

Olivia glances down at the table. "My liquor cabinet does."

His throat dries up, and all right, that's his heart picking up speed again, mellow feeling forgotten. "I wouldn't mind a, a nightcap." This is bold; they both are tonight. But they both are single adults in a stressful job, and from the hot spark traveling down his spine and curling between his legs, Lincoln knows he'd love to let the butterflies in his stomach solidify into a more...substantial reaction.

She looks at him from under her lashes, nods. When they get up, almost at the same time and more than a little hastily, they don't touch. But as she said, Olivia doesn't live far away at all. Almost up the steps of what he supposes is her apartment, she slows down a little, looking sideways at him. Lincoln breathes in, lets his fingers brush gently against the wrist of her left hand, where it peeks out from the sleeve of her coat. "It's okay. If you want me to go home, I will."

"I don't." Her mouth tightens in discomfort, but she opens it again. "I want you to come in. And --" she exhales, falters. "I'm not very good at this."

Lincoln has to smile, because. "Seeing as I'm so clearly great at it." He frowns purposefully at her. "Smooth. Suave."

Olivia's lips twitch. "Lincoln," she says, and he knows this, this is it. When she turns toward the door, there's no hesitation in her movement, and the same is true for him. He follows her into her apartment. For a second Lincoln thinks he can smell something sharp in the air, like ozone, but then Olivia looks at him, and a current runs through him all the way down into the tips of his toes. He closes the rest of the distance between them. Her cheeks are soft when he reaches up to gently cup her face, and she leans into it. That -- Lincoln swallows with some difficulty. "Olivia," he whispers, and his hand slides further up, into her hair, loosening the rubber band that holds her ponytail and letting her hair fall like a wave. The strands are soft, fragrant; he tightens his grip, and Olivia makes a small sound that doesn't at all sound like distress. He can feel her fingers take off his glasses first, then curl into the nape of his neck. Her lips open against his, and then they're kissing, kissing until Olivia is everything he senses.

They make it between the sheets, but they make their way there slowly: across the hallway, where he slides coat and suit jackets off and lets his teeth graze the edge of her ears until she gasps; through the living room, where Olivia brushes kisses against his chest she's successfully freed from his dress shirt and undershirt too; into the bedroom, where he discovers that a tongue along the back of her knee makes her tremble, and also that he can't stop the rough sounds he makes when her hands, strong, pull him against her until there is no space left between their bodies.

It's good the first time. It's better the second time. Dawn is approaching through the curtains by the time Lincoln curls himself around her sleepy, sated form, and shuts down ruthlessly his rational brain. There will, absolutely, be many more times.

**Author's Note:**

> My usual long string of prompt terms: crush, morning, shyness, proximity, sleeping, arousal, glasses, sheets, kissing.


End file.
